


Exploited

by orphan_account



Series: One-Shots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Being Convenient, It's For a Case, Mentioned Irene Adler, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Sexuality, Sherlock has Exes, Trust, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was going to use Janine to get to Magnussen's office and pretended to like her in order to get there. However, there was only so much he could stand in a person. Janine was sultry, teasing and generally rubbed him the wrong way. He could feign interest for a while, but after a while it became abundantly clear that he wasn't going to be able to pretend that he wanted her, much less cared for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exploited

They lie in bed together and he let her head rest on his shoulder, her nose barely against his collarbone. Her fingers played with the soft dusting of hair on his chest and she listened to him breathe. Though the scene was intended to be romantic, Sherlock could not find himself with any of those warm feelings. He analysed, criticised every movement of hers, every word she spoke. He couldn't determine what, but _something_ within him loathed her, deep in his bones. It was difficult to push through it for the charade.

He made a fair few attempts - kissing her, flirting and forcing a devilish grin, but inside he was disgusted with both Janine and himself. Being sweet to her was difficult, but flirting was simple. There was no pressure to get it right and he didn't truly care about impressing her, so following signs of what she liked was almost unnecessary. In fact on more than one occasion he'd tried to scare her off by being rude or even vulgar.

Pretending to find her beautiful made him cringe inside.

He tried to convince himself that she some good physical traits - and she did. Her hair was soft, her smile pleasing. It was only when she spoke (which was often) that he began criticising himself for even trying to believe that she had something redeeming. Her smile was cheeky and her habits of speech, paired with her accent and tone, made her sound like everything was a ploy to weasel something out of him. It wasn't as if the action was below her either, she'd done it before.

The entire time he spent in her company, in her room, he almost never closed his eyes. Janine was almost too eager for it. She'd let her eyes slide shut within minutes of this suffocating position - snuggling, she called it.

How _hateful_ it was to snuggle with her. He found himself longing for the company of almost any of the other people he'd duped in the past. Some of them made it easy to believe he could care about them in another situation. Some of them - if not endearing - were fun or philosophical, something he could wrap his head around.

"John mentioned a woman," Janine said, her voice soft. It still gritted against him.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. When did John have time to mention anyone to her? He hardly knew the woman, and she wasn't really the doctor's friend. "Oh?" he prompted, his nostrils flaring slightly. He hated when people let a topic hang like that.

"Irene Adler."

He narrowed his eyes. That was a lie. John didn't speak of Irene to anyone other than the people that already knew of her existence. He'd written a portion on his blog, but most of the details were lost in required confidentiality.

"He said that she took off her clothes to impress you," she continued.

Mary. It had to be Mary, she was the only one John would ever share those sort of details with. The only one Janine knew, in any case. He blew out a soft breath and shook his head. He'd need to talk to her about that, then.

It was then established, filed away: Mary could not be trusted with private matters, at least if they were deemed worthy of gossip. John was given leeway. People shared about the dead. Secrets never really died with the person they belonged to.

"She defrocked in order to give me the code to her safe: her measurements." He glanced down at the top of her head and wondered about the point to it. Irene wasn't at all relevant.

She hummed against his skin and it vibrated in his chest. He might've found the feeling pleasant if he felt any affection for her. "And he said that you two made googly eyes."

No. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why would John tell you these things?" he asked through pursed lips, an overwhelming sense of loathing rising by the second.

"Why not?"

"You're merely his acquaintance." That might've been too generous. Mary was the only person that mentioned Janine when he talked to her and John, and John seemed to pause as he matched the face to the name every time. Sherlock envied him, effortlessly forgetting things. It was of course both a gift and a curse, but John never spent hours lying on the sofa with his fingertips pressed to his temples as he went about clearing every mention of a particular object or experience.

She didn't respond to the insult in that. "But you two weren't. I mean - she was gorgeous. You're a lucky man."

He exhaled. That was a hint, just going by the way her voice lifted. She was pushing for something. Experience with another woman wouldn't matter to her based on her past partners (at least eleven if he went by the different sets of jewellery she wore on occasion), so she wasn't jealous.

Ah. Irene's area of expertise. Of course she would try to hint at it instead of asking outright.

"No," Sherlock muttered bitterly. "Did you need to play a game to get there? Why not simply ask - never mind." He didn't want to hear an explanation.

Janine's head lifted and she looked up at him with a furrowed brow. "Someone's touchy," she said with that ever-sultry tease in her voice. Did she take anything seriously? "Did I hit a nerve, Sherl?"

"Sherl" made him snarl inwardly. "I thought you would have some inkling of my mannerisms," Sherlock began to say as he slid out from underneath her side to get up from the bed. "Given the amount of time I invested in -"

"What? Invested?" She sat up with an incredulous look and watched him as he gathered his clothes. "Jesus, I was just teasing, I don't understand why you have to be prissy about it. If you say nothing happened, nothing happened."

Did matter if something happened? He wondered if the answer would change her mind. If it was simple jealousy, he could be spiteful enough to confirm her beliefs. It would bring no small amount of satisfaction. "It is never that easy. That phrase people like to giggle in the face of indignant refusal, 'You're denying it because it's true.' They force it because it's more amusing than the reality of their insults." He faced the wall as he shrugged his dress shirt back on and buttoned it with deft, determined fingers. There was another way, he was sure. It would take more effort but it'd be worth it.

"Sherlock, I don't understand why you're overreacting so much, I was just wondering," she said softly, fiddling with the bottom of her jersey-knitted jacket. "If you're not comfortable with talking about it..."

He sighed and forced a soft expression as he looked back at her. "What could possibly inspire the question if you weren't looking to twist it to your own advantage? You didn't ask if I'd 'had' someone, you purposefully mentioned a sultry woman with a reputation for enforcing recreational punishment upon request. Did you hope I'd offer to beg?" Sherlock asked, chuckling at the absurd thought. Picturing it effectively repulsed him.

She swallowed and pursed her lips with a shrug of her shoulders. "I was curious. I'll admit I had a... a thought, but if that doesn't get you off, that's fine."

"It's not about achieving orgasm." He put on his suit jacket and shook a hand through his curls before toeing into his shoes.

"Then… well, what is it about? That's sort of the whole point - isn't it?" Her brow was raised in a confused, doe-eyed look.

There was a simple truth in her words he couldn't bring himself to argue against. He sat on the bed and began tightening the smooth, black laces. "That is the goal of the activity, yes," he admitted with a clenched jaw. "However - as with anything else, I refuse to be in a situation disingenuous. Submitting to someone I couldn't trust with a gun... hard to imagine."

She frowned. "Are you saying I'm irresponsible?"

"No, I'm saying I wouldn't hesitate to believe you if you pointed a gun at me and expressed an intention to stop my heart." He finished tying the laces and stood, looking about the room. He had nothing more to collect other than his coat and scarf.

Janine crawled to the edge of the bed and put her hand on his shoulder. The way he tensed so strongly made her second-guess the decision and she dropped it to her side. "That's an unrealistic expectation. I'm pretty sure pointing a gun and shouting about how much you want to kill someone is all you need for them to believe it. How could you trust someone that much? Who do you even know that meets that criteria?"

"John. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly," he listed off in bullet-like fashion. He went to the dresser and collected his coat, draping it over one arm before he looped the scarf around his neck.

“So you’d let any of those people whip you?” Janine asked with a shocked laugh.

He scrunched his nose. “Not Mrs. Hudson. Or Molly, for that matter.” For an experiment, perhaps, but the thought of Molly in sexual context made him shiver.

Her eyes widened and she swallowed. Was she supposed to ignore that he threw away the only female candidates? Mrs. Hudson was obvious, but Molly was - well, she thought she was pretty. She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze falling to her lap and the man watched her with curious concern.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. There was something dejected in her posture. “What are you doing that for?”

“What?”

“Sitting like that. I didn’t say-”

"Sherlock, are you gay?"

The man frowned deeply and stood straighter, if possible. It was certainly unexpected, and he didn't know how to answer that. She thought that because... ah. He looked down at his coat and unfolded the collar as he thought for a precise answer. "I have... the _capacity_ to be attracted to women," he said slowly, pursing his lips. Analysing it now, it hadn't happened nearly as much as it had with men. They seemed to like him more than women tended to.

"Just not me." A wry smile formed and she nodded as she put her hands in her pockets. "Now it's no wonder we haven't... I wasn't just imagining it, was I? I mean - no, you flirted with me, Sherlock Holmes, why did you do that?" There was this hint of hurt in her voice that took him off-guard.

He took in a slow breath and bit his cheek. "There is... some necessary illegal activity I need to take part in, in the future. Your job is convenient to it. I was going to use you."

"And you couldn’t ask?"

His own logic was turned on him; he wanted to laugh. The double standard was clear here, that he thought himself the most logical being in the room whenever he stepped through a doorway. Save for his brother, this was an undeniable truth. She couldn't pretend as if asking her would've ended in his favour. Even if she thought so, he knew otherwise. “You say it as if it’s so simple. You wouldn’t have agreed if I asked you bluntly if you would assist in committing a crime.”

“I would’ve,” she said quietly, laughing to herself. “I might've. But you won’t believe that. You’ll never know now, will you?”

"I suppose not." She was lying, of course. He knew she only said this out of... pity or sadness, he couldn't tell which.

They fell silent and Janine went back and forth between feeling sorry for herself and overly amused with the situation.

She was genuinely upset. He didn't know what to think. His own reaction would've been to accept it and let him leave. From experience, Sherlock knew that the ideal reaction wasn't in the ordinary, but it took him off-guard anyway. People tended not to care about him enough to be anything more than insulted over it being a ruse.

It was about a minute before he uttered, "For all that it is worth, and I am sure it is very little... I _am_ sorry." It was a lie. Her emotions left him feeling awkward and unsure of what to do, so he went with the logical solution. In truth he was relieved to be rid of her.

“Are you?” Janine asked, looking up at him. “Would you be sorry if you got to do whatever the hell you wanted, using me? If it all succeeded, would you feel even a smidgen of guilt?”

He sighed. “No.” He didn't know whether to be proud of her for asking the right questions or frustrated that she wouldn't be fooled at his whim. The latter would have only surprised him, if he was being honest.

“Then get the hell out.”


End file.
